Buried in Water
by Don'tEvenHaveAGun
Summary: Wonderland is not that whimsical thought anymore. And for the moment, Alice awakes, only to find the sun glaring down at her and her sister's ghost haunting her. Her dreams lied to her so sweetly. Why couldn't reality do the same? (Slightly AU).
1. Chapter 1

**Buried in Water**

"_I love you so much, I'm going to let you kill me."_

…

_**Summary:**_

_Wonderland is not that whimsical thought anymore. And for the moment, Alice awakes, only to find the sun glaring down at her and her sister's ghost haunting her. Her dreams lied to her so sweetly. Why couldn't reality do the same?_

_**Warnings/Author's Notes (Please Read).:**_

_This was going to be the ending from my story: __**No Sabbath on Sunday.**__ But I've been too busy to finish the blasted fic (I'm signing up for the Peace Corps, and I'm volunteering for Red Cross). This two-shot was going to conclude the ending, but I transformed it to something more horrifying: reality._

_You'll see everyone, no worries. But this explains Alice's time in Wonderland and how she'll never be truly right with the world she was born in. _

_This leaves Alice with questions, like, is Wonderland real or not? Was Wonderland created to hide a deeper, darker problem? It wasn't Alice's love life that suffered, it was the mention of her older sister. _

_**Rating:**_

_High rating. I balanced it between a Teenage – Mature rating, considering I didn't detail the adult situation. Though, this could be triggering to some. So read with caution! Heaven knows, I wouldn't want you all to feel uncomfortable. _

_**Dark, horror, mystery, romance.**_

…

_**Part one.**_

_**1**__._

"_**Never fade in the dark."**_

Wonderland burned underneath her, glass shattered, and the looking-glass mocked her. She thought she was doing so well, too. Certainly, Alice believed that time slowed and favored her. Really, she spent too much time looking out of rose-colored glasses; she was charmed with rhymes from Wonderland locals, bewildered by animals that showed a hint of gentleman ethic through honeyed words and pinstriped clothes, and distracted by various, exquisite teas and cakes she never learned the names of.

That was clearly her downfall; a folly that she must swallow and freely fall into the void of nothingness and colorless backdrops.

All Alice remembers is staring up at the smog-smitten skies, thumbing over portraits of blurred stars with her ocean eyes. She's talking, but no words come from her busted lips, and then she remembers she was chanting a prayer to save her soul in her delusion; her undertones are broken, the back of her throat burned by inhaling the ash around her. Her mouth is dry and dehydration sits in rather cruelly while she licked at her dry lips, tasting iron and salt that stained her porcelain flesh. _She clearly hoped God had an apology to give her for all that he's done to her here._

Alice fought so hard; she tried not to forget who she was – or where she hailed from, but all that waltzed into her mind was the repetition of her name. Over and over again. The name on the tip of her tongue drove her mad, for it was the only link to her sanity. Her past. Her old world that prided upon literatures and the norm over everyday life such as religion and politics and family status.

She's still, fumbling over the current event and the peaceful dread of dying. Alice has thought long and hard over how dying would feel like. How the idea of being replaced would never occur. Thankfully, she embraces that idea of morbid glee; she would never wish for someone to live in her shoes - that would be too evil on her end. She continues to ponder over the feeling that dawns upon her, limbs unable to move, her preferable vision aware of the illuminating fires that bloomed around her in separate bonfires. She's so tired, though, it was a peaceful feeling. Her feeling is harmonized, and she hums an old sailor tune to make the process seem bearable.

_What does dying feel like?_ Alice often asked one of the Jokers during her stays at The Circus, flipping through colored cards and raising her debt in Black Jack, staring at one of the personas behind a dealing table, a flicker of an oil lamb separating them within a smaller, personal tent that sat at the outskirts of forest. The men would answer her with silence and the regretful nature of a tragic smile. Silence was their answer, but the silence would leave Alice bitter; she merely believed they were toying with her, manipulating her with soft chuckles and lulling tunes. Now, silence spoke volumes to her; she understood the principle of silence, now.

_Dying feels lonely. Dying is quiet and meek. A flame flickers on a wick, dulling, unknowing when death would blow it out. That – was the nature of dying. _Alice didn't know if she should mourn over the silence, or rejoice over the absence of sound. But she now understood why The Jokers kept quiet. Not even their silver-tongue and brash language could save them from the creeping darkness of oblivion.

Alice slips into darkness, cradled against a warmth that floods then drains. Her fingers clench, strains, then falters against the fabric of her dress. The light behind her ocean eyes slowly fades, riddled lifeless and crystal in texture.

Alice dies looking up at the stars; constellations that subtly told stories of fabled foreign tales that she'll never learn.

Oddly, she feels water rush her in the afterlife, like laying out on the edge of a beach. This gives her a reason to jolt. Unlike Dante's Inferno, there was no River of Styx, only the horrifying truth of reality.

_**2.**_

"_**If I could be with you tonight, I would take you to sleep."**_

Alice wakes with a start. Her arms tangling in bedding, smothering out her heavy breathing that rises from her chest and haunts her ocean-complex eyes. She wants to scream under the pressure of never ending darkness, fingers grasping out in oblivion to touch a solid surface; she's greeted with the feel of flesh and the sight of an illuminating candle that draws near.

"Alice, stop, stop! It's me, my girl!" Alice is startled by the orange glow of a dancing wick, a low warmth pressed to her cheek to pull her out of illusions of false death. It's a hand. _Her father's hand. _She settles, eyes wide like the moon, following the aging eyes of her father's, staring at the shadows that defined her father's facial structure: solemn and tired. "There, there, little one. It was merely a dream."

Alice did not lift her head from her feathered pillow, her rope bed laid dead still under her weight. She hears an old creaking of wood, and the swaying sound of a familiar – yet foreign noise of her mother's old rocking chair that Alice bequeathed shortly after her mother's death. Her father settled on the wooden surface of the chair, leaning back and chuckling lightly over the situation.

"You've given me quite the scare, Alice. I had no idea you were sick. My, and out cold with a high fever for a day and a half." Mister Henry Liddell shifted and placed the candle holder back on Alice's nightstand, fingers clutching back over the frame of a bible that rested on a suited knee. He stared at his daughter for the moment, a soft smile replacing his usual thin line, his rounded specs hung low on the bridge of his nose. "Though, it shouldn't surprise me, my dear. You always seem to have a knack of falling asleep under the old oak around an odd hour of three.

"You're lucky an old student of mine was visiting to find you in your sicken predicament. He came rushing in through the kitchen of the manor, scaring your ol' Nan half to death. You know how she is with you around men. Poor fellow got quite a tongue lashing in the way he was holding you when he ran through the door." Alice is quiet, but Henry continues, slowly studying her. "Mister Comstock, the city doctor, came in around five today. Said you were the picture of health, but mentioned your lack in not drinking enough fluids. Truly, he was rather pensive in the reason why you wouldn't wake up. That goes saying, Alice, my dear, how are you holding up?"

She wasn't in pain. Her skin was not smothered in soot. She didn't smell of ash. She stared at her father quietly, ebbing away her horrifying nervousness.

"Truly," Alice finally inquired, her fingers feeling for clean sheets, untangled in a sea of creamed blankets. "It was only a dream." She mutters, but her eyes fail to stray from the matching blue of her father's wise-stricken ones.

"Pardon?" Henry quirks a gray brow, his glasses pushed up his nose and he leans closer to his middle child. He moves his bible from his lap and places the family book next to the candleholder on Alice's nightstand. The older man's hand draws near, inwardly distraught when she flinches to the simple touch; his daughter settles and closes her eyes to the soft touch of her father's hand against the hollow of her cheek.

"Nothing, Papa. But I fell asleep in the backyard? Honestly, I feel just fine," Alice pauses, then fakes a small laugh, too low to be audible to calm her father. "Or as well as I'll be." Her eyes flutter back open when her father's hand withdrawals, slowly sitting up.

"I see." Henry considers his daughter, sighing slowly and remembering just how tired he was, how terrified he was when he heard his former student calmly explain that he retrieved help for his lethargic daughter. "Even so, think about sleeping, my love. I'll have Nan make you a hardy breakfast of milk, eggs, and sweetened pastries. You deserve it, really. I'll sit here for a bit, take down notes for my next sermon." A pregnant pause, loving the soft curve of Alice's smile that silently promised that she was fine and all was well in her little world. "If you don't mind, love?"

"No, sir." Alice spoke so softly, so mousy, it was almost unbecoming of her. Though, the old dean only understood it as the partner to her sickness. She was exhausted, her lids barely bordering between the lines of sleep and being awake.

All was well until Alice asked a question, a taboo one, indeed. The good Mister Henry Liddell almost chocked upon such a request. He blamed it on her fever. She knew nothing of what she uttered. Though, the question was inquisitive enough to make him truly believe that Alice had no idea.

"Perhaps Lorina and Edith will join me if they're not too busy in their studies. I could even ask ol' Nan to make a picnic out of it, Papa. Would you like to join if I talk her into it?"

Henry stared at his Alice, horrified, then grief washed over him like a churning storm wave. The mention of Edith was understandable – Lorina, on the other hand, was dead, for a good three years now. God Bless her. His eldest beauty was captured by a sudden sickness of scarlet fever, the same fate bestowed upon the old dean's wife.

How could Alice ask such a question? She attended her older sister's funeral, she did. She was clothed in black, eyes distant and unnerving; he had to tell the house servants in secret to keep an eye over Alice's movements. He believed suicide was a factor, and her plight to grief would be unending, earthshattering. He's haunted over the lack of affection that Alice and her younger sister, Edith, now share.

He's already lost one daughter to a disease. He only hoped he didn't lose another to madness.

Mister Henry would have to pray, of course.

_**3.**_

"_**So long, my friends."**_

_There is no God. _Alice repeats the phrase over and over again in her head, chanting, damning whoever wished her a _good morn'_ on a Sunday. Helplessly, she sits in the front pews of her father's church, holding the weight of a hem book, the frame threatening to fall from her weak grasp. Her lips quirk, and she pretends to sing a praise to God over all the _goods _he's given her.

Though, her father holding her down, reminding her that her sister has been gone and dead for a long time leads her to hatred. And when her father left her room, alone and startled, she cried. She hasn't cried in so long that it almost felt good – morphing into a throbbing headache, eating away at her sanity. She thumbs over her sister's old dresses, a scent of mothballs and honeysuckle lingers. Her ghost refuses to leave. Alice cannot see or hear her, but she can feel her, feel her beautiful mockingbird smile mirror against her.

_She hated Wonderland and God._

She hated Wonderland for showing her a false kindness, and God for reaping whatever he wished.

Apparently, her memories of her sister denying Alice's teacher's advances, an old flame that Alice held dear, was actually a misunderstanding. Lorina actually married Alice's teacher, had a daughter in the union named Elizabeth. And, oh, how Elizabeth looked like her mother – the fine detail of sunshine tresses drawing out the loving low of ash-gray eyes.

She would forgive her older sister, Alice could never hate her for such a betrayal. The girl could never think of hating her sister while she held her sister's daughter's hand in her own. _She remembered far too quickly the relationship of her family. Wonderland was simply not kind to Alice when she returned to reality, a nightmare of a gnawing dream. Alice forgot everything that hurt her, but remembered when Alice's father explained everything. _

Alice's eyes would linger to the side, watching the way her Ex's eyes returned her wake; her lips thinned, and he returned her look with such mirth, though, the look was innocent enough. She's kind to her brother-in-law for the family's sake, for Elizabeth's sake – she's already lost her mother, she didn't need to lose more family members to petty things like the past.

Alice's eyes returned to the front, idly ignoring the godly message. The preacher's voice is ominous, loud, and reverberating against the solid surface of floors and cathedral backdrops of gothic walls and roofs; the glossy fixture of marble softly reflects the collection of white stemmed candles.

The preacher tells everyone to sit down, the sound of closing hem books follows the sound of his soft demand. Elizabeth fiddles with Alice's dress, sitting proudly on her lap to overlook the man behind the podium. Alice's lips presses against the back of her niece's head, listening to the muttering of babble from the little girl.

To Alice's other side, sits a man. A tall man with great height; he's handsome and fair, his choppy red hair frames his slender, pale face and brushes against the line of his jaw. His fox-tooth vest almost mimics her father's, and Alice can't help but not to stare. He's familiar and it startles Alice over the likeness of this gentleman's features, a man she was introduced to by her father, the same man that found her underneath the oak tree and was a study underneath her father as an intern during his teenage days.

The man's smiles are infections, riddling, and startling; they're hollow-point, and telling. He's missing his left eye; his green, good eye quizzical over surroundings. Though, he told Alice before the church's service that he lost his eye from a gun malfunction during his military service; the gun backfired when a bullet lodged, having the gun blow up in his face. It wasn't Alice who asked the poor man his personal affairs, but Edith during her flirtatious banter that ended – rather awkwardly.

_He looked so much like The Joker from Wonderland, and it made Alice hate God and Wonderland a little bit more._ Though, this man's coloring was wrong. His clothing was dark and natural, not riddled in reds and gold, just simple attire of an educated British man. Jokers' single eye was red, crimson, and abnormal. Not green and lovely and promising like the texture of a clover. But his smile – that smile tells her something is off and that she begins to question if she's dreaming again, caught between limbos.

Her father's old intern smiles down on Alice, nodding his head to Elizabeth when she grips the man's black undershirt, twisting his sleeve to gander his attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. She does this." Alice whispers low and steady, but her voice is close to breaking. Her broken-china voice pleads for something better, and the man smiles.

"I do not mind, really." The man whispers back, intrigued by the curve of Alice's thin lips, her ocean eyes retreating nervously to the front. He narrows his good eye, his voice whimsical. "Your father mentioned his granddaughter, vaguely, mind you. She looks very much like you, Miss Liddell. She's precious."

Alice pauses, sighing softly. _A conversation during a sermon? Now, how interesting._

"You'll have to see old photography of my older sister, Lorina. You'd change your mind, sir -,"

"- John," He interrupts her. "John Hargreaves, I'm the new English professor of Westminster School. And what a pleasure it is to be acquainted with you, Miss Liddell." He extends his hand out to her, but Elizabeth accepts his gesture instead; her small fingers wraps around a single, spiderlike finger. John's smile brightens, enthralled by the moment. Alice's fragile smile breaks the glass, looking up at the man to silently question him.

Edith's gaze rounds the side of John, her frown evident to her displeasure. Alice's brother-in-law looks to Alice's side, sizing the man up.

Service ends, and the church bustles with conversation.

_**4.**_

"_**There's a town there, I've been down there."**_

"Oh, Mister Hargreaves, you are planning in staying at my father's estate for a while, correct?" Edith smiles lightly, her arm looped underneath John's arm, standing by his side so closely within the courting fashion. Edith looked rather misplaced next to the stick-thin man, she was so much shorter compared to him – though, everyone seemed to look short next to Mister Hargreaves's abnormal height.

"Yes, of course. Only till my teacher's quarters are set up, but that would be the beginning of the next semester in two months." The professor's smile is light, his gaze faltered down at the young girl, quickly averting back to the sight before him.

Alice sat underneath the great oak where her sister used to read to her when she was so much younger. Now, Alice keeps tradition by slowly reading a passage to her niece. However, Elizabeth is distracted to the sway of grass, brushed by summer winds, fluttering the virginal white of her dress. Elizabeth slowly babbles, incoherent in her childlike charm, pulling dandelions by the roots of their beds and showing Alice her product.

Alice twiddled a stem between her index finger and her thumb, holding the spine of her book with her other hand. Elizabeth pulls Alice from her reading by falling onto her lap in a forced heap, leaving Alice to sigh and close the frame of her book; she's quick to grab her niece underneath her shoulders and dangle the little girl over her lap. Elizabeth, in turn, laughs and it strums Alice's vocal cords with the same amusement, bringing the child closer to her face and kissing the bridge of her tiny nose.

Edith frowns lightly to the fact that John gave Alice's frame a look over; his smiles always seemed to be more easily placed when he stared at her older sister. Subconsciously, Edith's grip on the man's arm tightens.

"Lovely day, right, Mister Hargreaves?"

"Aye, it is. A bit warm for long sleeves, however. Silly me for believing otherwise."

Edith, beforehand, had explained to her older sister over how lovely the professor was, and how excited she was in clearing the guest bedroom, a room below Alice's and hers, for Mister Hargreaves. The love-stricken girl would bestow her company to the struggling, young professor around noon for tea and tales. She was vexed by his subtle smile he would give her, leaving his door open to his study, fumbling over documents and transcripts of students whom signed up for his fall semester classes.

Edith asked him about his family and he told her that his father was once a lion tamer for the Royal Circus that traveled the outskirts of London, his mother was a struggling writer; women writers were disregarded, but John explained how much his father was in love with his mother over her skill in storytelling and for her beauty. It was the fact that his father was illiterate and that she taught him and her sons to read and write.

John would then talk about his estranged twin brother that worked as a prison Warden. However, there was not much to say, and he would always cut Edith off with a thin smile if she questioned too much. The smirk wasn't rude, but rather unbecoming. Like a trick, she would forget whatever she was going to ask and sat silently in his study.

Alice told her sister that she was far too young and naïve to understand men, and that she shouldn't give her heart away so freely. Alice would get this look on her face, bitter and recoiling, like she lived some unmentionable war; she had explained to her little sister that she was too young anyways to court, that she was only thirteen and she needed to see the world around her before she pondered upon trivial things such as marriage and children.

Edith accused Alice of being a man hater, threatening to break her older sister's ribs by tightening her dress corset.

Alice only laughed at that, saying nothing more to her younger sister.

Mister Hargreaves was half of her age at twenty-eight, and Edith had never thought about what her father would think if he knew she longed for the older man. Oh, but she could imagine what he would say.

"I see Alice is taking care of Elizabeth again." John snaps her out of her thoughts, her head quickly jerking up at his voice and he inclined his head down to show her a bit of respect, overshadowing her from the blaring sun with his lanky form.

"Oh, yes. My brother-in-law usually drops Elizabeth off with Alice while he works. He thinks it'll be good for her to have someone around rather than sit in her room all day to knit – even if she is our little niece."

"Is your sister well?" John quirks a brow, his smiling curving into something new, a different landscape. Edith swallows hard, nervous for a second, but not clearly understanding why; she was enthralled by his handsome features, waiting to tell him things that she never planned to share. She couldn't explain these feelings, but she felt manipulated in a lovely way.

"Truly? She hasn't been mentally all there since Lorina, our sister, died. Alice is – a sad case. Father thinks she'll go unwed, and he worries that once he's come of age to die – that no one will be able to take care of Alice in her peculiar state."

The couple walks past Elizabeth and Alice, the two girls not noticing them in their play. John lingers his single gaze a little longer on Alice, Edith is unnerved and slightly hurt over his blunt display of interest for the mad middle child.

Edith was so used to getting what she wanted and for Alice living in the shadows of her older sister, Lorina. Alice was never mentioned, she was always pushed to the side. Edith was certainly not used to the thought that someone she liked paid her older sister mind, that the English professor never shared a hint of infatuation with her, but to Alice.

Edith's grip on his arm slackened; she was such a spoiled child, she knew. Much too young to understand the fancies of men and the chemistries of romance and smothered, loving tones.

_**5.**_

"_**You're far too young to die." **_

"Pardon?" Alice stares at her father hard. Sea eyes narrowing, questioning him if this was some sort of dense joke her father set up for her. Though, she's never known her father to be the type of man to joke and make light over things such as this. Still, his announcement startled her to a sense of shock, plagued to an acquired stillness that left her hands to politely cross over her thighs and brush over the fabric of her blue dress; dresses that her father started making her wear to be more presentable in front of his coworkers and his faculty.

"Mister Hargreaves has showed his interest and sought my permission, a little around afternoon today, to court you." Henry Liddell spoke so plainly, so drolly over formal matters that involved his daughters. He glanced over his documents once or twice before returning his gaze on his daughter, contemplating the exasperation that painted its way over her pretty face.

"And what did you tell the man," Alice inquired, more so out of curiosity than returned interests for admiration; the thought that a man that looked so much like The Joker, that fancied her, slightly horrified the girl. All she can remember from Wonderland is fire, a world in ruin, faceless people murdering and raping their own kind, and laughter. Oh, the laughter that left her awake at night, staring at the plain coloring of her ceiling. Her mind crumbled at the flashbacks, and broken shots.

"Well, I agreed to give my blessings. Do be easy on the boy, Alice. He's a well to-do fellow and I know how you are when men even think about looking at you long enough. Be kind, my dear girl. I believe if you play your cards right, you'll have a husband that will adore you just as much as I adored your mother."

_And to ignore your daughter's mental health? _Alice's fingers clenched against her own fabrics, saying nothing quite yet. "I see. Though, I am rather bewildered on why he's so keen on me."

"Why question such things, my girl? A man that I respect, a notable man, has showed interest in possibly marrying you one day. He's brilliant, Alice." Henry Liddell pulled his rounded specs down, folding the gold frame and placing them to the side of his oak work desk. The room is quiet and it reminds Alice of death again, but the droning sound of a somber grandfather clock chimes at an odd hour of three and pulls Alice from her denial.

"I'm only doing this for your wellbeing, my dear." Alice jerked her head up sharply, her father doesn't even flinch under her lulling, blue gaze. He saw hatred, he saw the telltale signs of madness creep into her open windows. "I'm an old man, Alice. I fear for you and Edith, both of you are my world and I know Lorina's husband wouldn't have the reasonable income to take care of two more attentions in my absence. Did you know that I've been funding the lad for my granddaughter's benefit? I know Hargreaves would take care of any financial issues if it came to you, Edith, or Elizabeth. Alice, this could be your only chance. A man showing interest, interest in your wellbeing, would be rare."

"Rare?" Mister Liddell hated the bitterness that draped from his daughter's lips, it was most unladylike and anger was a color that Alice did not wear well. "You assume I'll have a hard time finding a husband in my state?"

"You hardly leave the estate, Alice. What is a single father to think? Think this over. You'll forgive me in the long-run."

"I've barely spoken to the bloody man. Even now, I find this to be some ploy."

"A ploy? You are much too paranoid. Well, make time to talk to him, I'm sure you'll like him."

Like the word of God, her father dismissed his daughter from his office, walking past John Hargreaves while she paced the halls. Her eyes flashed with utter annoyance, filled with disdain for the man that called to her. Alice waved him off and continued down the amble halls of her father's academy.

John grinned, calmly walking down the opposite direction from Alice and entering her father's office. Mister Liddell looked up from his paperwork, studying the way his employee smiled and peeked from the frame of his door. "Saw your daughter, sir, she passed me down the halls." A pause, then a chuckle came from the younger man. "I think she's already fond of me."

Mister Liddell also followed along with a troubled chuckle, warm and deep from his chest. "You may be right, lad."

_**6. **_

"_**Blood, gin, and matching smiles from twin boys." **_

"Ado, you may call me Mister Dupre." The man bows, and Alice simply stares. _It was Blood, but he did not recognize her. _"How may I help you today, little miss?"

Alice's calculating gaze sizes the lookalike, blue eyes locking, raven hair framing porcelain skin; his smile is sinister, mocking, but he shows Alice with respect. _Wonderland needs to bleed from her memories, she's all too tempted to touch the man's face. _

"I'm here for pickup on my father's behalf, Mister Liddell is his name." Alice straightens her posture, arms gripping to her basket that held her to-do list and funds to pay for her father's tailoring.

"Of course," Dupre gestures for Alice to come deeper within The Hatter's shop, greeted with the scent of floral, mixed with a bitter tonic, and curious eyes of lavender and blue.

"Elliot, ring the order for Mister Liddell's essentials. He had a few stray buttons that needed mending, remember? His daughter is here for pickup."

"Gotcha, boss." Elliot jolts from his seat, his bowler hat pressed down his shaggy ash, orange hair. Elliot goes through the stacks of clothing, rummaging through finely pressed suits, hands looking for a tag with a name sketched on the surface. He unhooks her father's clothing off the racks, slowly turning the bundle to Alice, charming her with a boyish grin. _This was definably her Elliot. An Elliot she believed to be dead and gone in the turmoil of Wonderland. She remembered so plainly how Blood pulled through with his deal, ripping Elliot's clock from his birdcage chest and shattering his clock underneath his white boot before Blood himself was tempted with death. _

"Miss Liddell?" Elliot's head tilted, his eyes flashing with unknown sympathy for the girl that was nothing but a stranger to him. "Are you feeling well?"

Alice looks up, smiling and shaking her head to dismiss the former mafia member from a former world that all seemed lost to her. "No, sir, sorry. My thoughts tend to catch up with me in the most oddest of times."

"'Tis alright," Vivaldi's face was seen over Elliot's broad shoulder, coming closer. Elegance has not betrayed her, and it almost sways Alice to tears. The need to hold these people, to touch them, haunts her. "Brilliance leads that to women, such as us." She showed individuality, not presenting herself with We or Our. "Come now, child. Chin up, and remember posture."

"Must you always terrorize our customers, sister? Come, Miss Liddell, I'll have you rung up and we'll set you on your way." An air of grace, and Alice almost believed it to be her mind mocking her. She was truly mad.

There's a ring of a register, two boys dressed in opposites of blue and red pinstripes grin at her, troublemaking in the fine detail. Instead of one twin baring red eyes, they both sported blue. "Aye, pretty lady! We'll be at your service."

"Would you like a plastic covering for your clothes, pretty lady?" The other twin leans against the counter, hands gripping over fine wood.

Alice nodded, she didn't say anything, but smiled warmly to these boys.

There comes a point in Alice's life where she stops questioning if she's dead or not. While she masked her excitement and bittersweet compassion with that of a normal customer, the group within the store was oblivious to the memories they once spun.

In a world that resembled a shallow grave.

_**7.**_

"_**Assembling philosophies. Fundamentals of nature."**_

Alice sneered, cringing from the warmth of another. Spiderlike fingers curl underneath her palm, gracing skin. His skin is warm, welcoming. His lips are just as warm, lingering a kiss against the white of her knuckles, ghosting down to apply another kiss to the tips of her fingers. He runs his thumb over the kiss, straightening his tall frame to stare down at the woman before him; the woman he almost cornered in the estate library, hidden behind shelves and books.

"John."

"Alice."

John holds her hand, languidly stroking his thumb over soft flesh. "You seem well," he speaks calmly to her, hushed tones and cradled song.

Alice blinks, studying his facial features that came closer than usual. She truly feels out of her virtue, even within the silence of the family's library, listening to the ominous ticking of a hand carved coo-coo clock that hung from the walls and over the back wall of one of the shelves.

"As do you." She replied politely, listening to the natural hum from the man's throat. This man has Joker's face, he had his morbid charm, his maddening smile that spoke volumes of swaddled kindness and sadistic natures. Alice began to think about Blood and the rest of the Hatters, along with Vivaldi working with her brother in his shop; they had no idea about her, they had their names, their faces, but not their memories of her.

Alice looked to John with renewed interest, and his single eye gave her the same amount of attention. Perhaps – this was Joker. Of course, changes should be made to be considered normal within her world and not within British living. The name Joker would not be a tolerable family name, and the name John could be more believable. His single red eye could now be replaced with lulling green-mist; he still owned his unruly red hair, and his hollow-point grin, his missing eye that was hidden by the plain coloring of black from an eye patch, but clearly not his twisted personality that sought to horrify.

Alice has given her time to him. She asked about his family, the canning conversation of a twin brother who is a warden, a father that worked within the comforts of circus living, respect to the family was gained by his mother who came from a prestigious family of her own, an educated woman that was well respected and known by her own father at one point.

This could be something believable. Of course, just like The Hatters and Vivaldi, Joker probably didn't remember her from Wonderland. Perhaps that's why he's so drawn to her, and maybe that's why she is nice enough not to write him off so fast.

Alice would have no way of knowing if her theory was correct, however. She didn't want to seem more of a loon then she already was by asking a very _odd _question. But it did open up curiosities if Alice would see the rest of the roleholders that died in Wonderland. Though, it doesn't explain why they're here, or how.

"How – is paperwork going? You must be awfully drained from working all day, then coming to see me in the library."

"Ah, I'll manage. Really, it feels like I've kept the same schedule since my college days; work all day, make room for eating and communicating with my peers, then sleep for a few hours." John would shrug, but he keeps Alice's hand wrapped in his, "But if you are so curious in my paperwork, I would be more than happy to show you my study."

Alice is quick to frown. _Ah, he had White's personality and Black's subtle, degrading flirtation._ "Such a crud man," John laughs, leaving the girl to shake her head. "You've grown bold. You tend to forget who you work for, and whose daughter you're propositioning before marriage is ever thought of. I do believe daddy dearest would be rather upset to hear that his daughter is being sexually harassed within his own estate. You do also realize that my sister has been spending her energy in hating me a little bit more recently, she had quite a crush on you."

"What daddy doesn't know won't hurt him. And forgive me, I never meant to lead your sister on, and clearly, I didn't ask her father for permission in winning her favor – but yours."

"Huh." Alice pulled her hand from his, reaching up and pressing her palm flat against his face. She pushed the taller man away, applying pressure to cause him to stumble. "Sadly, my favor will not be won today."


	2. Chapter 2

**Buried in Water**

"_I love you so much, I'm going to let you kill me."_

…

_**Summary:**_

_Wonderland is not that whimsical thought anymore. And for the moment, Alice awakes, only to find the sun glaring down at her and her sister's ghost haunting her. Her dreams lied to her so sweetly. Why couldn't reality do the same?_

_**Warnings/Author's Notes (Please Read).:**_

_This was going to be the ending from my story: __**No Sabbath on Sunday.**__ But I've been too busy to finish the blasted fic (I'm signing up for the Peace Corps, and I'm volunteering for Red Cross). This two-shot was going to conclude the ending, but I transformed it to something more horrifying: reality._

_You'll see everyone, no worries. But this explains Alice's time in Wonderland and how she'll never be truly right with the world she was born in. _

_This leaves Alice with questions, like, is Wonderland real or not? Was Wonderland created to hide a deeper, darker problem? It wasn't Alice's love life that suffered, it was the mention of her older sister. _

_**Rating:**_

_High rating. I balanced it between a Teenage – Mature rating, considering I didn't detail the adult situation. Though, this could be triggering to some. So read with caution! Heaven knows, I wouldn't want you all to feel uncomfortable. _

_**Dark, horror, mystery, romance.**_

…

_**Part two.**_

_**8.**_

"_**The fear of falling apart." **_

John's hand pressed firmly to Alice's back, calmly rubbing the upper portion to hurry them along down the bustle of street, holding out his dark umbrella and gripping hard to the handle to cover him, Alice, and Elizabeth while they finished the rest of their window shopping and actual dress shopping for Elizabeth – upon Alice's brother-in-law's request, of course.

Alice held Elizabeth tightly to her chest, covering the four-year-old with John's uniform jacket that blanketed the small girl; he was more than happy to loan his jacket to the small girl when he was hinted with the first few drops of northern downpour. The older woman held a handful of curls, idly stroking the back of the child's head to comfort her from the loud crack of thunder, having the couple run for comfort to the nearest shop down their block. _The Hatter's shop, no less. _

John pulls the door open, signaling the soft chime of a greeting bell that clanked against the doorframe, ushering the two girls ahead of him to keep them dry while he folded his umbrella from the outside.

Summer laid on its deathbed for two months, till it bled dry to an early autumn, leaving John busy with teaching classes; he moved out of the Liddell Estate two weeks ago and into his teacher's dorms, but he still came back to the manor to visit Alice every two or so days. He enjoyed her company, talked about his students that were rather exceptional for their age, and he helped Alice with playing with Elizabeth while her father was away. If neither of them wished to converse, which it was mostly John that loved talking, Alice would ask to be walked to her family's library where she would talk about his lesson plans that he lined up for his students.

The couple sighed with utter relief once they made it into the warm shop. Alice let Elizabeth down to wander to the counter, leaving her to fold John's jacket over her forearm.

"Well," Alice slightly let out an amused chuckle, watching the man pull his wet hair back and run his fingers through the strands in a sad attempt to dry them. "At least your jacket is dry."

"Lucky me, aye?" The professor grinned, watching Alice pull her handkerchief out with her free hand.

"Here." Cloth brushed against the hollow of his face, leaving Alice to dry the sides. He could have done it on his own, but the man reveled in the idea of Alice actually being pulled in by his advantages. Which, in all honesty, he caught on.

Alice's lips thinned when her wrist was caught in a tender hold, fingers passing by the elastic band of John's eye patch. He continued to keep his taunting grin, leaning in to press a kiss against the side of her jaw to thank her in his own unique way.

Alice rolled her eyes at that, shaking her arm out of the man's grasp and gaining the attention of Vivaldi who pretended not to pay mind to the young couple that blocked the entrance of her shop; the older woman leaned into the shop's counter, licking her index finger to pull the pages of gloss apart from a fashion catalog that came in her brother's shop's mailbox this morning.

Elizabeth paid no mind to her aunt and her suitor, but sought comfort with the twins who ran the cash register, pulling the small child up on the counter; the boys asked her in broken sentences on how she was doing. The little girl nodded, clapped her hands together, and squeaked out, "Rain."

"Well, would you look at that?" Blood Dupre and Elliot March looked out the open frame of their glass window, overlooking the bustle of city life and all the simplicities it promised. Women in large hats with peacock feathers ruined and dripping from the rain, ran hand-in-hand across the streets, led away by the Metropolitan to hurry them across the street.

"I can't believe _they're_ stationed in our district." Elliot mutters, cracking a grin that told everyone he was entertained by the notion of two police officers stopping traffic to let civilians move across the street safely.

John and Alice moved ahead, coming closer to the window that Elliot and Blood looked out of.

Alice tilted her head, rather confused with what they meant by the police officers that directed traffic.

The Hatters have done enough business with Alice and her family to become acquainted to the middle child. To Alice, that was better than nothing. At least they acknowledged her for more than a pompous patron that was here just to buy clothing and the luxury of jewelry. The shop was rather comforted by the idea that a daughter from a well to-do family, such as the Liddell's, was interested in being friends with them; this helped with promotion and their revenue has improved by a good ten percent through conversation and town gossip of a peculiar Liddell daughter with a pension of wandering and dealing business with crud men.

"Little Miss," Blood greeted, moving over to give Alice space to see out of his window, pointing a white, gloved hand to the two men that stood in black coats in the middle of ringing streets that flashed with headlights of motor operated vehicles, along with horse carriages with drenched buggy-drivers that held the reigns to the horses. "See them?"

Alice nodded, and Elliot concluded, "Those bloody wankers tend to find a fella or two dead before savin' a lot out of an actual predicament. I'm surprised the Metropolitan still keeps those two; they're more desk jockeys, than men of the law."

Alice squinted hard, staring hard at the pane of thick glass and the wall of pelting rain that crashed against cobblestone; the pitter-patter of rain against the shop's tin roof comforted Alice. "Well, who are they?"

"Peter White and Sidney Black, ones a little more trigger happy than the latter, but both act like conniving hounds." Alice internally screamed, _of course. _Blood continued on, crossing his arms over his chest, and observing the men on the street, "I suggest if you come into a sticky problem, better to find luck from a bootlegger than those two. Besides, I think they favor a bit on the lavender side."

Elliot snorted, the action almost unbecoming of him, but it left Alice reeling on a laugh. "Lavender? They're practically in love with each other. I was almost tempted to take the threat of being hauled in for a few days to ask the two when their wedding would be, and that my invitation must be held up with the postal office with the rest of the invitations."

"Sarcastically speaking?" John adds.

"But, of course," hummed Blood. "They're always pulling their guns out on each other for the simplest of mistakes. Luckily, one takes to nightshift while the other favors the common rabble of day. If they were always paired together, than I do believe Oxford would not be standing."

_**9. **_

"_**Casual affairs that lead to discussions of intimacy; pray for better lies."**_

_**Warning: **__**Sexual themes.**_

"I tend to believe you conspire to anger me, Mister Hargreaves."

"Perhaps. Am I succeeding?"

"Exceling, dear sir." Alice answered him rather drolly, feeling the frames of books press against her spine, pushed close to the solid surface of library shelf. Her hands flatten against his chest, feeling the rough fabric of his woolen uniformed vest that his job supplied, thumbing over the chain from his pocket watch that tucked underneath his school jacket with care. Her hands move upward, dangerously curving over his shoulders and hiding the tips of her fingertips under collar from said jacket. "You're a bloody man, you know this?"

"So, I've been told on more than one occasion, I believe." His hands started at the top of her back, brushing by the buttons of her dress, but not undoing the garment; he drifted to the lower dip of her back, her hips, and then slyly shifting to press his palms against her rear; his fingers bunched at the fabric of her dress, pinning her by her hips with his and with his weight; this extracted a dulling chuckle, sinister, and not to be trusted.

"Oh, good. Then there's no need to repeat myself." Alice grounded her teeth, ignoring that single, green eye that pleaded for more than acknowledgement. She looked over his shoulder, rather bored over the situation, and truly, John didn't give a damn if she did or not; he only enjoyed her personality, her pensive nature to ignore him. Honestly, he was rather attracted to the feeling of chasing a girl than the other way around.

"How about repeating my name instead?" Alice gasped, and she had to admit that she was flustered when she felt gravity shift and was found being lifted up the wall, against shelf, from under her thighs. "Now, Alice, dear. This is the library, please learn to be courteous to others and keep your voice down. Who knows who may be working?"

John kept that hollow-point grin, running his hand up the bare of her thighs from under her dress and the slip from her knickers that she wore underneath. "This is my family's library, you fool. Who's to say that ol' Nan doesn't catch you doing this to me? She'll hit you with the broom, she will." Alice dug her nails into the fabric of his shoulders, barely trying to pry him free from her; but in the sick truth of it all, she actually enjoyed the obnoxious attention. This ludicrous, devious, affection gave her a cheap thrill.

She sighed, subconsciously wrapping her legs tighter around his slender waist, digging the heel of her shoe into the small of his back; the skirt of her dress pooled over her waist, her fingers relaxing when he leaned in closer to brush his lips against hers and she supplied him with the same level of comfort. Though, she tensed when he grounded his hips against hers, seeking for a sense of euphoria through his blunt actions. She can feel him through the fabric, a feeling of fear and wonderment intrigues her, but she remains docile and quiet – a silence that she's not too used to, but she never believed silence would ever be normal to her again.

She gasps, enthralled by a taboo deed before proper religious ceremony, but this was only foreplay and heavy petting. Her mouth opens to say something, but she forgets the proper need for God-given vocabulary when John, the man that haunted her with Joker's biology, pushes his tongue through the barrier of her lips, deepening the friction, languidly running his tongue over the bottom of her quivering lip.

With shaking hands, Alice finds the need to press her hands against the sides of his face, closing her eyes, and tilting her head. _She felt like she was playing cards with the Devil himself. _ Oh, but she'd shake hands with the Devil right now if she could feel this improper pleasure all the time; she enjoyed the feel of every teased grind, the movement of her back brushing up and down against the sturdy shelf from the angling of this man's hips, the feel of his uniformed pants that brushed up underneath her bare thighs.

Her hands roamed, weaving through red tresses, numbly rubbing the elastic band of his eye patch that crossed behind his skull; it was morbid curiosity of wondering what he looked like without it, and what medical wonder that would be unearthed behind the thin bandaging. Alice never mentioned his accident with the gun malfunction, she only reasoned that he was probably troubled by his blemish of only having one good eye now. Still, the girl wouldn't mind, she would be sure to tell him one day when she wasn't busy with making fun of him or engaging in childish banter.

Still, she fishes for an opportunity; gaining the upper hand in receiving what she wanted. There was a sick satisfaction in trying to wipe that annoying smile off this man's face, and it became a game to Alice the more they tempted the idea of intimacy before marriage; she would tighten her thighs around his waist, using her arms that were wrapped around his neck as leverage to hoist herself up his body, then roughly grind down against his hips.

He's surprised, rather prideful that his Alice would play such a bold move on her end, and it would be her, this time, to ignite the need for him to bury himself within her. He's so dumbfounded by this – welcomed turn of events – that he doesn't even realize that it was him to softly groan into her mouth.

John pulls away for the moment, a translucent string of salvia stretched between them, connecting from his bottom lip to Alice's. He's distracted for only the second, leaning forward momentarily to lick it away from her lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Do you like that?" He mumbles, trying to mask the shake in his voice, still very much taken back by that alluring movement. He's excited to have her so close, so entrusting, and he loses his sensible side to only return to his maddening smile, his delirious twitch of muscle that hurt the sides of his face.

Alice nods dumbly, not truly understanding the silent context in which he was leading her to. But it came to a point where she didn't care for proper ethics, and only cared about what she wanted.

He balances her with care, using the shelf as support while he cradled her close with one hand to snake his other hand between them and down the front of his trousers. He rustles the lace, unbuttoning the front of his pants, trying to push the fabric down to find a relief from the tightness. He keeps his stance plastered to the carpet, adjusting his footing a certain way to stand during penetration.

He's interrupted by a thump, a dull pain from over his head. He's startled, but he doesn't drop Alice, he merely crouches down to properly place her on the ground; his trousers droop low and hang baggy around his slender waist.

"Bloody, dog! Thinkin' of foolin' with my little Alice. Men are all alike! Can't keep their grubby little hands off their own balls, or anything that's not theirs to be claimin'." The old nanny that Alice has kept since she was a babe pushed John to his feet with the handle of her hay straw broom.

"Ol' Nan!" John lifts his hands up, grinning like a scheming cat. "So good to see you. My, you are looking lovely today." He quickly remembers the state of his attire, moving his hands down to awkwardly shift.

The old woman jabs him in the stomach with her broom, "Don't try charmin' me, dog. I've spent enough time with men in my day to know none of ye change. Now, pull up your trousers and get out of here with your tail between your legs, best before I think about stuffing you in the Shepard's Pie I'm serving for lunch. None will know ya gone, I do have my ways. Plus ye too small to be crackin' jokes like ya do."

_Oh, low blow. Alice didn't know if she wanted to laugh hysterically over John's expense of an older woman seeing his – unmentionables and telling him his size was inadequate; she could feel him wince at that statement - Or cry for being caught with a hand up her skirt. _

Even in this embarrassing time of being caught - and, oh, how Alice burned at the thought that her nanny, the one she's known since she was Elizabeth's age, knew what she and John were doing in the family library - John pulled up his pants, walking the walk of shame, while being chased out by her former nanny.

Alice could hear John's voice down the hallway of her home, "Ol' Nan?! You've been with how many men in your day?!" Another swat of ol' Nan's broom silences the retreating laugh.

_**10. **_

"_**I'll wash my bloody hands and we'll move on."**_

Alice grows more curious as the days wane on; she's secretive, in her own way, but John always tends to catch her eyes lingering far too long on him and he fashions her a winning, smug grin.

With what he believes to be longing, is simply Alice's inquisitiveness in knowing if he really is – Joker's counterpart. Or _counterparts_, if she wanted to be technical and count Black and White as two separate entities. _Bloody man. _

Alice watched his fluid motions, his switched personas when he conversed politely with her father, Edith, or her brother-in-law. He was always so caring when it came to Elizabeth and punctual with whatever the child asked of him. He was diligent in his work, and seemed to be always grading papers and revising reports, idly chatting with her about his students and the differences that each child held.

John's students loved him, indeed. Alice noticed this when she visited him at his campus every Saturday around noon for milk tea. After he let out his final class for the weekend, the students would linger about, hoping to catch a conversation with him before he averted all his attention on Alice. He was all soft smiles then, talking about different projects that he was planning, joking with his students like he truly gave a damn; it sort of warmed Alice that he could be considerate rather than _irritating _and full of snarky side comments that he saved for her.

Alice would also have a good laugh, secretively, of course, when the occasional female student would approach him with a nervous air of conversation, fumbling over words with an adolescent crush that was plain as day. These confessions branched into secret love letters, crossed with eloquent words in lovely cursive, placed in salmon colored envelopes and sealed with red wax. John would tease Alice, naturally, asking if these letters made her jealous; she would shake her head, saying that these were cute and that she would be lucky to get one of these girls to take him off her hands.

Then, there is the other side of John that no one sees, and Alice can't decipher if she truly loves it or tolerates it. He's devious, always reeling and willing to touch her with every chance he gets; this side truly reminds her of Joker, but she's too cautious to plainly ask him.

When they walked the school's campus, he walks so close to her; he explained how teachers were prohibited to even hold their spouse's hand when they visited the campus due to the strict public affection rule; they are told to abide and to set an example to their pupils. When they walked busy streets, instead of campus, his fingers would always curl around the side of her hip, fingers lightly inching in, softly caressing a curve.

He once coaxed her into a janitor's closet while on campus, pushing her against the frame of the wooden door that they came in at, telling her to keep her voice down while he slumped to his knees in front of her; her back pressed hard to the surface, complying to slowly lift the front of her dress, letting the excess fabric rest on the tops of her thighs while he picked her up, and placed her thighs over his shoulders, pressing his face between her thighs, and using the surface of the door to hold her straight, supporting her with a hand at her hip and the other underneath her rear.

All Alice could remember from that venture was tugging his hair and trying to stifle a cry while her thighs pressed to the sides of his head.

There was another instance when she visited him in his office with a kettle of warm tea and a few cookies that she snuck from ol' Nan. Alice waited patiently when the students slowly funneled out of the classroom, like she always did; they said their goodbyes to him while some of the students took notice of her and showed the same respect with a smile and a wave. Once all the students left, he asked Alice a peculiar question that didn't quite click with her at first. "Could you please lock the door?"

Mindlessly, Alice nodded, placing the kettle and her basket down on one of the desks and locking the door the students left from. He then beckoned her over close, telling her he wanted to talk to her before they continued on with their Saturday afternoon ritual.

His definition of _talking_ must be a lot different than from what Alice thought, because after a few moments of arguing, a couple of snide remarks that left one party laughing and the other one fuming, Alice was on her knees in front of him and his teacher's chair, slowly rolling her delicate fingers up the tops of his thighs, leaning forward to loosen his trousers to pay the same respects that he gave her once in the janitor's closet.

Though, the truth was unveiled one day after horse riding. Alice received help off her horse by her brother-in-law; it was over something as innocent as to being brought down. But hands do tend to linger too long, fingers brushing past hip, and staring is so rooted in human genetics that it is never accounted for as abnormal.

Still, it lead to a heated argument behind the stables with Alice and John; he's never argued with her before, he's never cornered her against the wall in vain – other than to appreciate her; it truly baffled her with the way he was acting.

There came a time where Alice despised being talk down to like a child, and she lashed out her own slurs of profanities, daring the taller man to interrupt her. In which, he quickly backed down and listened to what she had to say, slowly pacing back to where he was now pressed against the fine grain of wooden establishment.

Her tongue slipped with her final, "Shut up, Joker!"

A careless mistake, really. Like a mother calling for one child, while she clearly meant the other.

Alice was quick to fasten her hands over her mouth, staring up at the man whose expression turned from mild frustration, to unique curiosity, and then, finally, passing to evilly withdrawn and sinister. His grin retorts hollow-point and sharp, his white teeth showing, figuratively reminding her of a timber wolf or a rabid dog.

"Well, hello, Alice. I was beginning to wonder when you'd begin to question."

He proved her theory so calmly, so easily, leading to silent explanations and false identifications. Truly, she felt tricked.

_**11.**_

"_**Oceans welled up behind eyelids." **_

"What are we to do? What is going on?"

"In what manner, Alice?" She hated his smile right now, she loathed how he used it when the matters seemed unjust.

"Just _who _are you? Is this life that I'm living now really my life?" Her voice draws soft; she meant to be overpowering, asserting her authority over the man that possibly knew everything that she wanted to know.

"Depends in what world, Alice. You may have to clarify if you'd like to know a certain topic, but -," Oh, he adored that anger that flashed over her pretty face, and he showed his better nature to her so freely. "Questions, right. Mythologies tend to clash in this world. Not so much in Wonderland. In Wonderland, I was known as The Joker, correct?" His head tilts, his deranged smile pressed permanently against the fine porcelain of his lips, rather pleased when he walked closer to Alice and she didn't flinch away from his touch; he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, giving him an excuse for his fingers to linger against the side of her face, tracing the hollow of her cheek, down the line of her jaw.

"In your world, in some forms of Christianity, along with other forms of religions, believe in rebirth; reincarnation. This explains the familiarity of others: your friends. Wonderland died, we come back here. Now, I'm not trying to play the Devil's advocate, but, that doesn't sound too bad, now?"

"You're eluding to what I'm really asking, Joker. Who are you, really?" She pulls away from his touch, the back of her hand swatting away his; he dangerously curls his fingers back at that, slowly bringing his hand to rest at his side.

"Ah, well, simple enough. What does the book of Revelation say to you, the last book of the Bible?"

"The end of time." Alice trails off, staring intently at the man before her. _This is madness, this is a malicious and morbid dream. A dream within a dream. _"But that has nothing to do with my -,"

"- Aye, so very clever, my love. In Wonderland, I was known as the Joker, beguiling patrons into The Circus with tricks and treats. A grand time, really. When people did wrong, when they went against the games of Wonderland, it was my job to banish them into the bowels of the Prison. Same principle applies here."

"And what job do you do here? In my world? And do not tell me your only occupation is just being a bloody English professor. That would be too easy for you, Joker. You're an exceptional liar."

"Come now, Alice, you're brighter than that. You've heard of Hell? You've heard from scripture that the Devil sends all the evil people to Hell." The Joker laughs, his undertones smooth and graceful at being called a liar with great taste.

"No. You are mad, and this is a dream. You are evil if you think I'll believe something as – delusional as that. _Who are you?" _She repeats herself in vain.

A glint, and his eye flashes back to its natural color of wine. "Evil? Me?" I'm no puppeteer, Alice. I don't make things happen, it doesn't work like that. One word: Freewill. No, I only set the stage, everyone else pulls their own strings. You ask me, who am I? Well, Alice, who are you? I can ask you the same damn question." He was enraged. Alice could tell. His shoes clicked against the floor, slowly pacing, preying upon her with a single red gaze; she can't tell between the personas of White and Black. One moment he is so kind to her, the next he's angry, willing to kill any man that crosses him.

"Why do humans think? Why, Alice? Because they're so fuckin' good, but why," He continues.

"I'm merely curious, I assumed that the man I was courting was a good man," Her eyes narrowed in his wake, Alice stands her ground, waiting. She watched Joker grind his teeth, too upset to stay still. He barely showed what bothered him; Alice believed he didn't know how to deal with it. Still, even during his foolish rant, Alice kept her calm.

"I'm a little more than that, Alice." He spat.

"Then what are you?" Her voice drawls, icy and threatening. Joker keeps his steady gaze on her. He was always tempted by her hidden anger; her harsh personality of not even letting him get the better of her.

Oh, no. Alice was smarter than that. She never fell into his tricks, merely sat back and watched the world unravel around her – even while it devoured everything she loved.

"Oh!" He chuckles, his smirk sarcastically implying he simply knew. "There are so many names." He gestures his hands out, presenting himself to the abstract girl. He challenged her, actually amused to hear what she actually knew of him.

"Satan." Alice's voice muffled, her voice shaky. She sizes him up and holds her chin high.

The Joker thinks it over before muttering, "Call me Joker instead, John when we communicate with neighbors." he dismisses her accusation with the wave of his hand, but it led to her answer in a vague way.

"But why are you so troubled with who I am, Alice? Is this about God? Is that it? God?! Is that why my existence makes you so uneasy? Why you never loved me? Is that why I frightened you in Wonderland? You believed I'm evil for what I do? Your people demonetizes my existence for what I was assigned to do – by that unnatural entity, just like in Wonderland." He goes on sarcastically, smug in every blooming aspect, "Oh, yes. I'm evil by birthright. Let me give you a little insight information about _God. _God loves to watch, he's a prankster, think about it. He gives man instincts: freewill. He gives you this brilliant gift, and I swear, for his own sick amusement, for his own cosmic private gag, he sets the rules in opposition! It's the biggest travesty of all time, really. Look, but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, but don't swallow."

His laugh is bitter, and for a moment, Alice feels pain for the man that she cared so much for, getting to know him better through false identification and strings of sweet poetry. Really, she didn't know what to trust anymore with how life turned out for her. And, honestly, she was perhaps in the same boat as the man that ranted about an entity from above. God has also led her astray, she truly believed no one listened to her; her own family swept her aside like what God did for the man before her.

"And while everyone is jumping to one problem to the next, he's laughing his bloody ass off! He's a sadist, he's an absentee father. Worship that? Never!"

"Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven," inquired Alice, quietly watching the man tense at that.

"Why not?! I've been down here long enough with the squabble, the rejects and the insufferable bastards. I've given every sensation that man has felt, to be inspired to have. I cared with what people wanted, and I never judged anyone. Why? Because I never rejected anyone! In spite of all of man's imperfections, God's flaws, I'm a fail to mankind! I'm a humanist." He sneered, his chuckle warm and defeated. "Maybe the last one." He closes his eye, pressing the palms of his hands to his forehead to subside the tidal wave headache; his waterwheel mind jumped to conclusions all too fast, and it left Alice reeling with words before she could utter what she truly felt about him – being the way he is.

It was all too subliminal, and Alice couldn't believe she didn't catch on sooner.

"Perhaps you and I share much in common," Alice said, rather cautious on how her sentence played out to him.

Alice gives Joker enough time to gather himself, letting him pull his hands down and open his single gaze to look at her in a new light; a different analogy. He gives her a new emotion, something that is not woven in chimerical madness or unyielding rage. He shows her his better side of complete awe; pure astonishment. His lovely, broken features freeze.

"May I ask something else, Joker?" Alice continues, choosing her words carefully to appease him. She spoke so kindly to him, so softly, that it left the man to situate his stance, erecting his posture, relaxing his arms to the sides of his body. He was a bitter man, a tad degree mad. He contemplated her, finding any sort of flaw that could lead to abrupt betrayal, then he nods for her to inquire for whatever blasphemous thing she wished to know.

"The Role Holders. Why can I remember them, but they cannot remember me? Also, when I left Wonderland after I – died. Why did I wake up again in my bed like nothing happened? I couldn't even remember my sister's death, or that I had a niece, or that – my sister married my teacher. None of it."

"Like with severe pain, Alice, your brain shuts down several nerves to subside the ache. When you stumbled into another world, it could be plausible that your mind was telling you to renew your own life, to start over and cut away from cancerous thoughts that plagued you. Memories can be pretty things to have, but not all memories are benevolent and some are better left intercepted and untouched," Joker shrugs. "As for the others – clearly, I have no idea. I may be a deceiving man, Alice, but it doesn't mean I know all the ins and outs of these worlds. I was assigned a role, and that's all I'll ever do with my existence."

"I see," Alice left it at that, too tired to argue if he was lying or not. "I'm happy that I recovered my memories, though. After I came back into my own world."

"And why is that?"

"Well, how would one learn to be weary without past experiences? I'm not that little girl anymore. I'll learn. I'll adapted. I'm stronger than what a lot of people like to believe."

The Joker cracked his trademark smile, hollow-point and threatening. "Perhaps you're right."

"I'm also happy that I kept my memories of you, Joker, when I left Wonderland." Alice's smile is not as crooked; she straightens her posture and enjoys the new perspective of this conversation.

"And what a dangerous thing to be grateful for, indeed. I must say, Alice, I'm inspired by this outlook of yours, but I find you absolutely foolish for it. You are, in fact, in it for the bitter end."

_Alice made a deal with the Devil._

_**Continuing with a part three… **_

_**Notes:**_ I know I was going to keep this a two shot – but I feel like I needed to break up the rest and I'll add one last chapter to it. The last chapter will explain Alice's finally moments in Wonderland that lead to her waking up in her own world, and what she plans to do after everything is said and done.

Joker's conversation about God was inspired by the movie: The Devil's Advocate. (I'm Christian, but it was extremely interesting). I'm a minor in religions, also. And hearing what God did to the Devil and his followers was actually – heartbreaking. Yeah, the Devil's a horrible dude, but he's not the one that causes natural disasters, diseases, etc. It was God testing people's loyalty to him. The Devil's job is to, sure, lure people into sin – but he tortures those who do trespass. And if you really think about, Joker is basically the Devil in Wonderland. He fuckin' puts people away in jail that break rules. He's disliked by everyone due to his role. So, eh.

They say that anyone can be the Devil. They say that he walks the Earth as an attractive man with power and a great personality.

(I'm actually thinking about rewriting No Sabbath on Sundays – the inspiration to this twisted short tale).

So, hm. I probably should up the rating, but I did put warning over the sections just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

**Buried in Water**

"_I love you so much, I'm going to let you kill me."_

…

_**Summary:**_

_Wonderland is not that whimsical thought anymore. And for the moment, Alice awakes, only to find the sun glaring down at her and her sister's ghost haunting her. Her dreams lied to her so sweetly. Why couldn't reality do the same?_

_**Warnings/Author's Notes (Please Read).:**_

_This was going to be the ending from my story: __**No Sabbath on Sunday.**__ But I've been too busy to finish the blasted fic (I'm signing up for the Peace Corps, and I'm volunteering for Red Cross). This two-shot was going to conclude the ending, but I transformed it to something more horrifying: reality._

_You'll see everyone, no worries. But this explains Alice's time in Wonderland and how she'll never be truly right with the world she was born in. _

_This leaves Alice with questions, like, is Wonderland real or not? Was Wonderland created to hide a deeper, darker problem? It wasn't Alice's love life that suffered, it was the mention of her older sister. _

_**Rating:**_

_High rating. I balanced it between a Teenage – Mature rating, considering I didn't detail the adult situation. Though, this could be triggering to some. So read with caution! Heaven knows, I wouldn't want you all to feel uncomfortable. _

_**Dark, horror, mystery, romance.**_

…

_**Part three.**_

_**12.**_

"_**Though, you can see her smile, she still thinks of the guns they sound." **_

Alice remembers Wonderland so clearly, so plainly, that she knew the landscape better than the back of her hand. She's grateful for her vivid memories, but not the haunting images of destruction, nor the decimation that it left on her mind. She wakes at odd hours of the night till the subtle charm of dawn, tangled in her cream sheets and gasping for oxygen that was all too eager to leave her lungs. She jolts, and her rope bed creaks at the sudden movement; the sound is shortly lived and is devoured by the ominous sea of darkness that enwraps every corner of her bedroom.

_Just another silent nightmare._

Her mouth hangs open, forming words that tempted a prayer, but quickly demolishes that last shard of comfort that stabs at her heart in regret. Cold sweat begins to trickle down her spine from under her white nightgown, wiping away the exhaustion from her eyes with the side of her hand; she blinks her eyes several times, sighing when her world becomes apparent and smitten with nighttime.

She can remember every detail, every movement, and every shrill scream that called for her name. Once her mind decided to go along with Wonderland, finding home in a homeless state, it dissolved before her in poised defeat. And like a virus, the faceless that inhabited the land developed a strand of individuality, retorting in a militia for an upcoming revolution against the Role Holders. The stand was weak at first and causalities were not accounted for, much like they usually were. But the movement grew stronger, and even Blood Dupre, infamous mafia lord that stalked the lands of the mad, batted an eyelash to the revolt – deeming it worthy to be called a civil war.

Vivaldi held a massive court, brimmed in red, and smothered in gore. Faceless aristocrats called treason, calling her an inadequate ruler, a sham to follow into a bleak dawn of a waning sun. They told her to step down from her throne with grace, and accept a public beheading with dignity and elegance so that someone else would fill her role. Vivaldi refused to be memorialized to the sound of a crowd of idiots cheering as her head hit the muck. Her reign was tight like a noose, her resistance impeccable – she showed nothing less than the romantics of a massacre; her heels churned in earth, stepping over bodies that fell in heaps in her wake. The air was pungent with decay and singed flesh, wails of faceless slandered her, ripped her clean from the responsibility of a heavy crown.

They hung banners, burning the crest of The Heart Kingdom away. Vivaldi showed no fear, for she had none to give. A dignified woman, poised and beautiful even in the august of her death; her trial was short and gifted with public gunfire. Her last words were stagnant against the air of war, her voice powerful and never threatened to quiver, "We do not care what you think of us. Let it be known in Wonderland history that the only regret that We have is not killing more of you bloody cards while We had the chance!"

Defenses fell drastically after the siege of The Heart Kingdom, the other territories were sure to find demise.

Alice suffered the brunt of that; she couldn't believe that _her_ Vivaldi succumbed defeat, that they – violated her in such a public display. Death is promised, she supposed. But it can be postponed and challenged. She refused to crumble, even while the new day rises, even while fresh blood ran and pooled.

Alice wasn't innocent. Not anymore. She tried to keep her sanity, she never wanted to pick up firearms. But she did. She can still visualize the warmth of blood that lathered her hands, how her body shook to a distant noise of creeping steps. She was a shotgun-sinner. She held her gun, she carried a blade that stained so easily.

They tried to dominate her. They tried to force themselves on her. She remembers their sickening hands curling into blue fabric, slowly pulling the garment down, hands brushing up flesh. She remembers how she turned vigorously, how her actions dug a blade through chest. She refused to be dubbed as weak.

Alice watched all her friends die. She watched them all lose their minds to the telling signs of defeat, their clocks smashed against rocks and under the soles of marching boots, ripped from their birdcage chests and held high like a trophy against the churning storms of swelling skies; with horror, Alice watched their blood drip from the hands of their captors and down their wrists, rain paling the russet into a lowly crimson that stained the sleeves of their uniforms. They wore their blood like a medal of honor, stale against virginal cloth.

Alice sought a means to an end, she stood high among the ranks of swarming faceless that also hunted her down for her precious heart that stuttered underneath the floor of her chest. She remembers, vividly, Joker's voice telling her that she'll understand the meaning of _silence _and the drumming ballad of death.

She was all alone now. Covered in ash, covered in shards of broken glass that pricked at her idly roaming fingertips. Blood welled at the surface of her smothered skin, but she didn't cry. There's a ghost in her mind, and it refuses to vacate from her sprawled out mind. She remembers the fires, blooming and manmade – like most wars. She drawls a hand to the heavens, fingers pointing towards smog, skies riddled in reddened explosions. She's pinned by debris, smothered in the smell of iron and sweat.

Patently, she waits for someone to pull her out from the rubble. Anyone. Lights decimate, flicker, and then fade into complete raven dreams; utter darkness.

This was supposed to be a fairytale. She was supposed to spend her fleeting thoughts on pretty things like satin touches of exquisite dresses, and singing flowers that charmed her with meek voices. No. People are so spoiled on the ideals of happy endings that they hardy appreciate the context of it anymore. There had to be tragedy, even while her ocean eyes stared up at the vast numbers of dying stars that streaked across the black cosmos. She patiently waited for the rapture.

_They can keep her heart and go to Hell while they're at it. _Soon, all the lights in the sky will devour everything.

_If she had to come back, she only prayed to be another memory._

_**13. **_

"_**Graves and lilies; she's fleeting like fireflies."**_

Death: a cessation of all biological functions. It is something that we are all promised, written in stone and irreversible. We are only born but to serve purpose, and then die like clockwork. We are called back into the ground, ash-to-ash, and nothing more. We reproduce, hoping to set a permanent biological footprint in this world, carried on through thousands of years in hope of changing technology and improve human living. Some live in fear, while others seek refuge behind the walls of religion, letting someone else take the fall for our morbid tidings and farewells of our shell, our physical bodies; our eternal rest after a long wake.

"Thank you for taking me to London," said Alice, crouched down in front of a headstone, idly tracing her fingers over the engraved granite and brushing away the blanket of snow that coated a thin layer of ice from last night's fall.

"Well, you haven't left your father's estate in two weeks. Couldn't stand you moping all the time," There's an air of cautious humor laced in Joker's vocal cords. He held his dark umbrella out over Alice's hunched over frame, while holding Elizabeth against his hip with the other so that her black dress shoes and stockings wouldn't get wet by the thick layer of snow that came up to her ankles. The little girl from her high stance seemed uncertain by looking down at her aunt and her mother's headstone, possibly, she was too young to truly understand; the little girl hardly knew her mother and was rather indifferent by the plot of the woman under the earth.

"Lorina was a good person. I don't understand -,"

"-Things happen for a reason that we don't always have to understand, and are usually better left unanswered."

"It isn't fair."

"A lot of things are not fair, still doesn't give us an excuse to roll over on our backs and mourn for life. Alice -,"

"- No, no. I understand. I just like talking about her. Honestly, it makes me feel better." Alice's lips thinned, tucking her fingers into her furs, burying her head into the hood of her throw-over. "She would have made a brilliant mother if she had the chance to stay around for it longer. Oh, Elizabeth, if you really knew your mother you would have been so proud of her. There would have never been a dull moment with her."

Elizabeth's fingers curled in the fabric of Joker's jacket, her ash-blue eyes squinting curiously, her head tilting to the side and questioning. The young girl looked up at the man that held her, and Joker looked down at her with a curled, terrible grin that wasn't mean, merely strange. Slowly, both of their gazes avert back to Alice, watching her small frame give into weakness to a small shiver from the abrupt weather of a white dusting of snowflakes.

"Elizabeth has a brilliant aunt and a – okay father." Joker's shoes crunched the thin layer of ice underneath him, slowly shifting to Alice's side.

Alice continued to talk, ignoring whatever interrupted her. "She'd take me out under the oak in the backyard around three. It would be me, Edith, and Lorina. Lorina made it a habit of showing me and Edith how to play cards, she told us it was improper for girls to know how to gamble like sailors – that's why she told us to never tell father." A chuckle, and her warm breath blows against the chilling element of winter air; her breath parted like smoke, her teeth lightly chattered and clenched from the numbing cold. "She'd always say, "Alice, if you're going to make boys hate you when you're older, you might as well know how to play them." Now, that was the type of advice I needed rather than piano lessons."

"Well, has it worked out for you?"

"I scammed my way by taking fifty-eight pounds and fifty-three pence from Blood Dupre – if that means anything," Alice answered drolly, her eyes shifting to the side, her grin brimming to something so unlike her. Truly, it jolted a jubilant laugh from Joker.

"I'm starting to see you in a new light, Alice. Now, c'mon. The carriage is waiting for us at the gates and we have to return Elizabeth to her father."

Alice slowly rises, tucking her arm under his arm that held the umbrella; she followed him out, footprints treading over fresh fallen snow.

_**14. **_

"_**Sailors and street tarts."**_

Mary Gowland owned a distillery in the east side of the Flooded District; the establishment was hidden behind crumbled buildings, withered and weather worn. Police barely made the trip through the muck of the abbeys. And dealings with sea loving men that recently docked into port – was not the most excitable reason to seek out the distillery that may, or may not, be doing anything illegal.

It came to Alice's knowledge, upon talking to Vivaldi about the dealings that went on around the streets, that the former carnie owner runs cheap drinks for men that enjoyed cheap thrills with even – looser moral women.

As of recently, Mary Gowland was hauled into confinement for two weeks due to an – untimely incident. Humorous, really. And Alice couldn't help but to chuckle with Vivaldi over the fine details of Gowland's conviction of slumming it to the lowest level of drunk and tossing a wine bottle out of a two-story window and hitting a pedestrian. The poor bloke lived, of course. But Gowland's reputation in the gutted Flooded Districted was tainted – and more so feared. Fear with being knocked out with a corked wine bottle, horror over his strumming violin strings that screeched like a vulture or a cat in heat.

Alice saw Gowland once or twice in passing; more so if Vivaldi brought her along on a wild ride to the Flooded District for a couple of harsh drinks and a glass of water.

The rumor to Gowlands origin of birth was that his mother was a prostitute that walked the streets of Whitechapel. His father, however, was a pastor with a weakness for whores. When Gowland was conceived, the pastor refused to have his name slandered and sent him and his mother away.

Funny how religious heads can be so hypocritical to the atonement of their own misgivings.

_**15.**_

"_**The Crow and the Butterfly."**_

A nightmare. She's dreaming. _She knows it. But she's so bloody curious._ That's her nature by default and she's notorious for falling and following.

There's music. Sweet, lulling music that draws her into its web of a charmed lullaby. Alice is captivated by the fade of symphony; an elaborate musical composition with an orchestra of slowing violins that tempt her deeper into the lost forest. Her hands press to bark, her eyes scanning the sizes of mighty oak with colorful signs hammered against trunks; they give her false detail in directions: Up. Down. Right. Left. _Completely lost. _

Still, Alice can't will herself away from the tune that's harmonized with whispers and garnished with laughs. She can't believe how beautiful the sound is or how horrifyingly dark the forest is; engulfed with melodies, consumed with void that makes it harder and harder to read the signs from over her head.

There's a chime of a piano, light fingers stroking over keys like a forest siren. Alice can't help but to think how childlike the keys are that play for her, like stumbling fingertips that dance across black and white steps.

The music guides her into an everglade; a marshy landscape with protruding trees that stick out like dead hands, numbly calling her from the grave with a rip of a gale. Alice tries to give up, but her legs take the plunge off the bank and she continues to walk to where ever her mind pilots her. The music swoons and hangs heavy on the air. Alice is waist deep in muck and mud, picking away floating moss and vegetation that floats in her way; she pushes aside logs until her fingers trace over mechanical clocks that bob to the surface in swarms.

Alice pleads with her mind to wake up, to cease this foolish game. Her hands pluck at glossy frames, pushing aside clockwork hearts that stop on an odd hour of three; they tick in sync, but their faces refuse to move.

The music becomes so violent, so violated that it plunges Alice into madness; she prayed to shut her eyes again, to press the palms of her hands to her ears to ignore the world that closed in on her. She wanted to ignore the silhouettes of afterimages that passed her in the opposite direction; they are gifted with speech and they are the ones who've given relief to chattering and maniacal laugher.

Familiar faces begin to pass her: Blood and Vivaldi are linked by the arms, walking and passing Alice through the marsh like the hardly knew her. Blood's white coat is smeared in stale blood which drips down to his trousers; his chest broken in. His cavity devoid of any mentions of a heart or a clock that once ticked behind his ribs. Vivaldi is bullet ridden, her blood red dress can only mask the lighter shades of crimson that pooled from her breast while the heavier areas bleed faster and rung with multiple dark violet holes. They walk like the dead, their eyes vacant from luster. They talk of politics and the taste of smothered rose tea in ghosted echoes; their voices are charming.

A cipher, she feels like she's weightless; the depths of the everglade becomes more defined, deeper in her slow march into the abyss. The water comes just underneath her breast, hands skimming across waters with no reflection of her face; the water is too murky and the fear of what's underneath slightly instills her.

Alice can see Elliot pass her now, eyes loss of light, his hand holding broken clock components. His fingers strum against cogs and springs, calculating his own heart for that matter. His shirt from his chest is ripped, frayed, and his ribs open like a busted-in birdcage. She spots gore, major organs spewed out and lost in the swampy waters. He dunks underneath the edge of the water, lost. Alice tries to swim out towards him, but her feet are grounded to the water's floor, moving her along to forget her friend that haunted her dreams.

_Forget it! _Her mind screams at her in scorn. _Abandon that memory. It's unproductive. Go…to Wonderland. _

Her preference doesn't signify. Her Wonderland is shattered. It's dead. Her memories are nothing but ghosts that haunt her in her waking hours, and terrify her in dreams. The music she once heard distorts and plays backwards, tunes breaking and refusing to make sense. The music comes in riddles and familiar faces keep passing her. Voices are louder, too. They call to her, whisper and scream.

Tulip eyes and a chuckle. Long dark hair and a sneer of annoyance. Julius and Ace pass along, discussing whatever. Their voices are almost foreign, eyes glancing once or twice in Alice's wake, passing by her like a stranger on the street. She then sees Gray and Nightmare trailing behind them. Nightmare's smile is pulled thin, blood cascading down his pale lips. Gray hurries him along, telling them that they'll be late to a formal affair. Nightmare pulls his hand back for a moment, teeth falling from his mouth; he quickly presses his palm over his mouth.

Her mind is in ruins! Her Wonderland is in corruption. She finds herself sinking deeper and deeper into the waters. She's drowning, submerged into the arms of stagnant waters. _This is Hell._ A conflagration, waiting to happen. If not with the expense of blooming fires, but with the dawning of cold and sweet waters that swell over her head. Her fingers trail over clocks that gleam in murky depths, playing cards that brush over her skin, lost fancy baubles and forgettable items float up towards the surface while she plunges into the deep like an anchor.

Nonsense… Speak more nonsense. Diversions rule the day and she can't will herself to scream – not while swamp waters flood her lungs and the coloring of crimson taints the waters down below. It's dark in her watery grave.

The burden of someone else's arms loop around Alice's waist. She jolts to look down at the open cavern of dark water from underneath her, threating to swallow her whole; she sees that it is Peter White dragging her down – just like he did when they fell down the rabbit hole. The white rabbit's smile is sweet, compassionate. His rounded frame glasses are broken and shattered; she can't see the color of his red eyes behind them. He opens his mouth to speak to her, but all that bubbles out from his mouth is blood and it splashes against her face.

Alice wakes, grasping herself. A sob in retort. Her vision is obstructed by her hair, her half-lidded eyes staring into darkness. _She's mad._ Hysteria blooms in the cavity of her chest, her fingers clutching cream bedding. Death – it's more horrible than she can currently imagine. The death of a dream.

_She wishes not to be alone tonight. _

_**16.**_

"_**Trust in me and fall, as well."**_

The Devil does not appear as art portrays him to be: red, curled horns, razor teeth – nor will he be shown as some horrible apparition. No. The Father of Lies wouldn't want to scare off his patrons just yet; he needs an alternative to lure men and women alike close to him, seeking him, calling him in broken and selfish pleas.

Old tomes speak of him being found behind glass: average-looking, well-dressed, and smiling rather pleasantly for being called upon. His appearance may change, suiting himself to whatever form that would comfort the caller. If anything, the Devil is prone to vanity; he takes great pride in masking his true identity - that hidden entity that is nothing like God, but knows the human psychology better than any mortal could possibly imagine. He may smother his traits, but he cannot hide his true potential in his frightening eye. They are unchanging, even if he tries his best to hide it with a tint of green to appeal in Alice's world; his malicious glint leaves the patron in mild shock when their crosshairs clash. It seems, it would always be the Devil who would initiate the conversation, asking whatever the patron desires in their dazed state.

_The Devil, in fact, was once God's favorite. Of course, he'll show a hint of appeal. _

He knows things; knows whatever invested that may interest someone. But trusting anything from this entity may put one deeper into trouble than they originally were in. However, if you are truly dead-set on trying to find something out, and you've exhausted all other options, there is a way in trying to get accurate information out of the being. Like so many notorious, evil men that are romanticized in propaganda and slandered by the metropolitan, the Devil has bit of a penchant for games; he indulges in the art of gambling. Of course, the only reason he adores them so much is because he almost, always wins.

Joker expects to be challenged in a game of question. And he'll always accept the request with a wide, predatory grin of anticipation. He's been playing this game for a long time, and he's very good at it. However, humans who ask for favors from the man are not, and this gives him the pleasure to thoroughly mess with someone's mind. One must be as clever as he, and generally, his questions are rather simple – which could lead to complications if not played right.

Joker's the first to start the game, initiating his question; the questions he ask could range from obscure trivia to riddles. And when one answers, he never tells the individual that if they got it right or wrong; he simply waits for them to question him in return. This is where the consequences come in and time freezes. If his patron answers his first question correctly, he'll answer theirs honest and accurately – or how vague he wants to answer them. If they answered with an incorrect statement, he'll simply feed them with the most insidious, damaging lie he can come up with. He'll ask them another question, and the process will repeat over and over again until the patron calls quits.

Joker's questions seem rather simple, but they are not. He asks personal questions, tedious questions. He asks questions that are too morbid to answer – or something within their soul that refuses to justify a correct response. The patron begins to lose confidence in each answer they supply him with, obsessing with trying to reel for their own knowledge, trying to decipher between his own true or false answers, as well. They answer question after question, trying to appease the man that has already won the game; he's too sadistic to call quits and rather enjoys the thrill of exasperation that floods their face while their sanity drains.

If one was knowledgeable in religions, or folklore, they would have known to never answer personal questions about themselves to the Devil. Like inviting a vampire into your house, he'll begin to control them more through their personal answers, terrorizing them with their deepest fears, making them lose faith in whatever branch of religion they acknowledged as home. It would always be wise to never disclose one's name to him, as well. They say, that once the Devil knows their name, he can control them on a personal, more intimate level.

You'll lie to him, like he'll lie to you. And you will always believe him. That is his role. And the Joker is the best at what he does in this damnable world.

There are many ways to cancel out Joker's game of question and still request a favor from him, however. As the Devil, he may propose a dare: not too hard, not too diabolical - such as murder. A simple dare, like writing a number down somewhere, or moving a certain object to another location. But all small dares end with a bigger demise, and may result in a worldly calamity that resembles the theory of the Butterfly Effect. Once you've accepted a dare from Joker, you cannot back down from the challenge. Suck it up. A deal is a deal, and it is written in stone. And no one dared to turn their back on Joker's dares.

If the dare is something that you are not willing to take, then he will ask a request on your end. He could ask you to hurt yourself, to publically humiliate yourself, to cut ties to significant relationships and betray them in the most graphic way. He may ask you to ruin your own reputation and have others turn from you.

If you've obtained the information or the favor you wanted, or given up on the possibility of ever achieving it, you may simply thank the Devil for accepting your invitation, bowing politely at the waist and bidding him farewell. And he will leave.

Alice wonders, quite frequently, how she gained Joker's favor to begin with. If not with questions and dares, then what?

Alice is haunted by his one eye. A malevolent amusement of hunger, like the eyes of a spider, contemplating a fly trapped in its web. That single orb of red displays supreme confidence. Confident, and without pity. She warns herself, belittles herself, when she stares too deeply into the good eye of the former harlequin for too long; one cannot help but to feel helpless, paralyzed with dread. Though, she supposed that was his nature hidden behind his iris.

Joker brushes a couple fingers against the hollow of Alice's face, tracing over her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle, his other hand pinning her close to his chest by applying pressure to the small of her back. He stares down at her from the opening of his office door; a smug grin painted tiredly against the porcelain of his lips.

"My, how very scandalous for a young woman sneaking out at an odd hour of the night to come visit me. Your father wouldn't happen to know that you left the estate, eh," Joker mocked her through his even tones. "I don't oppose the intrusion, I'm rather flattered."

Alice cringes by his use of tone; she knew what time it was. He didn't need to sound too excited for her intrusion on his late night planning. Still, she settles in his embrace, slowly inhaling while his chest pressed against hers; her fingers curled into the fabric of his dress shirt. "No, and I don't want you running your big mouth to him either. I snuck out after ol' Nan went to bed, had to walk a little to Blood's shop to wake up his sister, and she was more than willing to pull a carriage up front and take me close to the teacher's dorms on campus - or as close without drawing attention from facility that recognizes me as my father's daughter."

Alice felt him hum, contemplating their open predicament and the possibility of being spotted in the halls. Joker steps back a few paces and pulls her into the confines of his office, dimly-lit and clean. He closes the oak door slowly, a click of deadbolt indicating that the terrible man wished for Alice to stay as long as he planned; he then presses her back firmly to the door, pulling back some to give her breathing space. He seemed rather pleased that Alice chose to spend her free time with him; it could have been explained as an understatement.

He's silent for a moment, idly listening to the ominous ticking of a wall clock that hung on the adjacent end of the room. Joker can hear Alice's settled breathing from how close he stood near her, mapping his cold touch down the side of her face, curving it along her jawline. He arches a brow at the look of her face pinching, her narrowed eyes watching every movement he dared to take. His thumb stops just below her lower lip.

Joker can't help but to keep his smile over how observant Alice could be. "Now, Alice, just _why _are you here?"

"Ah, ah. I require compensation before I answer any questions from you. You know the rules, of course. You live by them." Alice's lips thinned; her own fingers curled over his shoulders and slowly made their way down the front of his chest, twiddling with the fabric of his vest and brushing over a button rather numbly. She stared down, finding her finger movements more interesting than whatever the man said.

There's a chuckle, and it causes Alice to incline her head to the man before her. "I pay for your questions? You are full of surprises, Alice. Fine, spit it out. What do you want so bad to annoy me at this time?"

"You keeping quiet right now would be absolutely lovely, I think. Really, I just came here – to see you." Showing a form of dependence was a foreign concept to Alice. Though, her motive for bothering the man was simply because she was too terrified to sleep anymore. Perhaps, if she had distraction, she wouldn't have to fear about nodding off.

His hollow-point grin is pulled tight; he knew Alice was lying. He knew of her nightmares that plagued her at odd hours. He could help her, but she has not asked him to cure her brain fevers. It wouldn't surprise him that the only reason she probably didn't ask him is because she assumes he'll ask for something in return. _Smart girl. _

No. Alice had another, deeper motive to this arrangement. A rather pleasant proposition.

With shaky, nervous hands, Alice reached up and tangled her fingers through the crownless curl of his red hair. There's hesitation in her movement, but he allows her to flatten the palm of her hand against the back of his skull to pull him close. He cranes his neck, leaning his taller frame over hers so that she could reach around his neck to hold him tight to her. She kisses him first, and he merely deepens the collision.

There's an audible gasp on Alice's end; her breathing caught in her throat when Joker applied weight against her smaller frame, pressing her firmly against the structure of the wooden door. Her hips feel crushed, and her hold that slipped from his hair found comfort in grasping at his clothes; her fingers clench from the tension, finding solace when he departed from her lips for only a second. He smothers her again, rather curious in how far he'll be able to push her tonight before she pardons herself from his space.

Alice calls off her guard, and pulls herself into an adulterous condition to simply let go. There's a dull heat that coils in the pit of her stomach; the weight is heavy, and she feels rather nauseas from the rush of nerves screaming at her. For a moment, the urge to cry becomes pronounced when she felt the ghost of fingers cradle the back of her neck rather tenderly. The elegant curve of her neck stretches out to one side, leaving her patience vulnerable while she watched from the corner of her eye Joker's head descend.

A hot mouth hovers over a patch of flesh, teeth brushing against a point, and Joker simply nips at the area he chose. Alice winces, not from pain, merely from the adrenaline and the lingering contact. A thin trail of salvia starts from the junction of her neck to just underneath her jaw.

The dealings of sex was a taboo notion, even before marriage. Still, the anatomy of a female form is not strong for nothing. Though, it quickly passes through Alice's mind on how horrid the pain was, even while the motion was slow and steady, and even while Joker, as evil as he was, gave her as much time to subside her own crying.

She lost her virginity on the floors of Joker's office, something more unholy to the Devil himself.

"_**I get up in the morning to put my dreams away."**_

Alice has been sick for the past two weeks, her cycle missed twice. She looks at herself from a mirror's perspective; she presses her hands flat against her abdomen without corset. Her lips thin at the barely notable swell that can be quickly hidden by thick fabric. She refuses to face reality, and merely believes that her body is taking a turn for the worse. A nature's call, a human's need, she secretly believed that she was with child.

Joker has been rather pleasant lately, though he mentions nothing that's amiss. Ol' Nan, quick in her ways, is beginning to suspect; she questions Alice intently, soft in her approach. Though, the younger woman would always slowly shake her head in denial. Ol' Nan knew better, she remembered all the symptoms that the late Mrs. Liddell had when she was pregnant.

A child out of wedlock will be nothing but a blemish to Alice's father's reputation. To the whole family, in fact. It was simply not God's will in their eyes.

Alice's condition was even verified by a midwife that stated that she was, indeed, pregnant.

The news was refreshing to Joker, Ol' Nan sadly smiled at that, Edith indifferent over the transaction, and Mister Liddell was furious over the occasion.

Alice remembered the short argument shared between Joker and her father. Though, manipulation was Joker's game, and he tricked her father into giving his blessings to an early marriage.

Mister Liddell shipped his daughter off, along with her fiancée, to London to escape the common gossip from members of the church; it would seem that the dean's reputation was more important than his daughter's comfort. Mister Liddell even pulled some contacts to find Joker a teaching position in the heart of London.

Alice's marriage was short, her new living adjusted. Joker mentioned how much he hated sitting in churches for long periods of times, though he would respect the ceremony; he did, in fact, win the game for Alice's affection – something that was held in Wonderland long ago.

"_**Taking everything for granted, but we still respect the time." **_

"Ah, Alice! Delighted to see you again, my dear. Your arrival is filled with fortune-ality itself."

"Really, now? I had no idea." Alice's hand rests on the swell of her stomach, her curious eyes coming into play from the devious man that she wedded. Joker smiles terribly at her, his whimsical voice beckoning her closer into his empty classroom. His masked, green eye glaring at her intently behind the glass of reading glasses. He's slow to stand, waiting for her to drawl near. He pulls a chair for her to sit in, spiderlike fingers strumming against the hollow of her face to comfort her, to fool her into his space.

"Are you cantankerous, Alice dear? You are rather vexatious in your – unique state. I swear, your mercurial personality is going to be the death of me. Sit, Alice. Sit – least you threaten me," said Joker, his slasher smile tempting her to sit down in the chair he offered, resting her back against something sturdy for her spine.

"I threaten you with good reason, bloody man. What kind of man plays tricks on his pregnant wife?"

"To a personage of your distinguished reputation? My, Alice, you fascinate me when you're mad. And with your knack for being clumsy and falling into trickery is – admirable, bewitching, I dare say. Come now, Alice, do not be upset with me. I've missed you and I hate that I have to stay on campus during the week. Written letters are simply not enough for me sometimes." His words are honey, his silver-tongue alluring to her. She'll sigh, and hum softly at that, annoyance vivid in her vocal cords.

"So said the Devil in sheep's clothing."

"You really know how to win a man's heart, Alice," Joker mused, hunching close to rest his hand over hers, guiding her hand slowly against the fabric of her stomach. His larger hand blankets hers, fingertips grace her stomach. He blinks once and his true nature of a wine eye stares at her, all but forgetting the clover green seconds ago. "Are you well? Has your father and sister kept you company while I'm away at work? They are visiting London, yes?"

"Ol' Nan likes to read to me during the afternoons. Father keeps busy with the congregation. Sister, well, she's been seeing this boy. The stable boy to be exact."

"Assuming she's forgotten all about me all those years ago? A damn shame." Joker implies jokingly, jesting at the opportunity to poke fun at Alice's family.

"Yes, and here I was hoping of ridding myself from you for good this time. Find myself a nice hound, a mutt, nothing full bred. It wouldn't be much of a difference, really. Probably takes up just as much bed as you do – except it wouldn't pull me into half-baked plots, "Alice remarked harshly, but she doesn't bat Joker's hand away that traced her stomach.

"That's quite enough of that, I think. Enough of preliminaries, Alice." He leans forward, his lips brushing against hers. She can feel his permanent smirk against her mouth, and she bitterly frowns at his smug personality; she absolutely hated it when he twisted his analogies on her. His hand moves away from hers and he flattens his own palm against her stomach, something he believed they shared.

Joker is the first to part from her, breaking the kiss. He keeps his mouth over hers, and she can feel the heat of every syllable he rolled. "You do understand that I love you?"

"In your own weird, vague way – yes," Alice countered. Joker presses against her again, lighter this time. She returns his affection; a delicate hand curving around the nape of his neck, pinching red hair between her index and middle finger.

"Oh, yes. Considering you are with child is my own _vague _way of telling you that I care."

"Are you implying that men and women that do not love each other can have sex and fall into the burden of having children? Do tell," Alice sarcastically went on.

"There is not a simple way of pleasing you?"

"Of course there is. Only when you are quiet and not questioning me."

"Oh. Oh, yes. I am completely drawn to you, Alice. Only when you demean me," Joker's voice is dangerously low, his telling smile taunting her. Sarcasm at its finest. "May we go home now, love?"

"That is something that I would like to do."

"_**And maybe if he continues watching, he'll lose the traits that worry him."**_

Percival was more like her father in the lines of biology; her eyes took on that haunting green that Joker faked in Alice's world, red hair that draped over slender shoulders, porcelain skin, and a charming grin. She favored her father greatly, always looked upon him for comfort in any form. She always accompanied her father when he would retort to his office for class management; she sat in his office for hours, drawing or listening to the muttering voice of her father while he checked over reports.

She was a small child of two, so inquisitive to the likes of city life – such as London. With limited vocabulary, she was so full of expression. Where she lacked in words, she made up for it in child babble and facial features. Percival would follow her father around the house, tiny hands gripping to pants fabric, abstract eyes always studying her surroundings.

As some time went on, Alice drew quiet, almost dormant; a slave to dreams, a follower in maddening thought. She almost wanted to stop talking as soon as her second child was born, her son, Corvo. With Alice's withdrawing personality, it left Percival to run to her father more than often.

Alice would spend hours in her mother's old rocking chair that was moved into Corvo's nursery as soon as he was born. She would rock Corvo, not entirely thinking about her current predicament, and would often ignore Corvo's cries. She didn't mean to. Simply, she wasn't all there with the world anymore.

Joker would have to snap her out of her daze. He was patient most of the time, but he grew more irritated as the days went on, internally hoping that Alice will damper her pride and ask for his help. He knew her dreams from long ago have only gotten worse, he felt her shift in their marriage bed at night. But as the Devil, a man notorious to help in his own peculiar ways, he could not help her; she needed to make a deal with him, a deal that's he's already planned in his head for some time. All she needed to do – was ask.

"You're going to need to feed Corvo, you know? There's no use staying in bed all day, Alice." Joker said absently, buttoning up his dress shirt. Percival laid at the foot of her parent's bed, staring up at her father; she hummed playfully, stuck in her own innocent mind.

Alice thought of many things as she stared blankly, almost numbly; her life was somewhere else, and she couldn't decipher properly to what was fiction or not. She was married to a madman that's treated her fair enough, she gave him offspring – even in the light of wedlock at first, pushed from the manor that she was raised in because of it. She thought about her tainted virginal outlook, her mind free of Wonderland and the horrors that the faceless afflicted. So much blood, she thought. And not enough mercy.

Alice is silent for a moment, pulled away by her self-pity from the shift of weight on the other end of the bed. Her shoulder is pressed against arm, and she internally wonders just when did Joker retrieved their son. Carefully, Joker positions his stance, passing Corvo to her. Percival crawls across the bed, climbing onto her father's lap once it became vacant.

Alice shifts the top of her nightgown down, and begins the morning ritual of feeding. The warmth of her husband stays close, and she idly listens to the incoherent babble of Percival as she talked to her father. Though, Joker only nodded and brushed his fingers against the back of her head.

"Alice, I know." It was going to be a normal Sunday, Alice believed. A dull morning with the sounds of city life left in a bustle. Alice wants to ignore whatever Joker has to say. She loved him, truly. She loved him in a morbid way, something completely unnatural, sacrilegious in fine detail. "Alice, I know of your dreams. Now, girl, I could remedy that – with a small fee, of course."

The grip on her son's swaddled cloth became tighter, her shoulder hunching as if to protect herself and the infant in her arms. It takes her a moment to stare up from where she looked down, she saw her husband's face, his crooked smile ready to strike up a deal. Another proposition. Another, lovely ploy. She could only foresee folly.

The girl's voice rasped, but she swallows her doubt. "What did you have in mind?"

"_**A thousand miles out to the sea. The end of all things rush over her. "The end," she'll call. "The End. She'll follow him to said end. Another reality is present on the other end of Looking Glass, and it doesn't seem bad at all."**_

They say the Devil appears to you behind the Looking Glass, offering assistance in deceitful glee. It was the only way to contact the Devil, to strike a deal that could permanently hold you behind the glass for a lifetime.

And that's what Joker wanted from Alice; a crooked man as he, was selfish enough to want to be with her for all eternity; she was already bound to the man. Alice didn't belong in her world anymore. Simple as that. The poor girl had a screw loose.

Alice cradled her son to her chest. Percival stood at her mother's side, staring at the mirror that they all faced. They stood there in silence, waiting for something to happen. Anything.

Her dreams have vanished, her mind an open slate to new beginnings. And just like the rabbit hole scenario, she'll find a new world, a strange one at best. And all that it cost her was her soul; just as Joker predicted, she was in it for the bitter end.

What has life taught Alice? Even in her selfish move to forget everyone in her original world, just like she did in Wonderland.

She learned to think for herself. To stop pitying others. To stop feeling sorry for herself. If she wanted happiness, to forget everything, then possibly this was the best move. Her life will never be normal. That's a fact.

Slowly, Alice walks closer to the flat-faced mirror, and with a free hand, she touched the surface that rippled like the edge of disturbed water, and walked through.

The room was empty, and the existence of Alice and her children was never mentioned; and so the story ends, and an old one repeats.

"_**And so it begins. Once upon a time…"**_

Alice awakes to blinding light, the sound of scuffled dirt, and a childlike laugh. Her face is warm, pressed close to her daughter that sat next to her laid out form. Joker's sadist grin widens, holding Corvo close to his shoulder as he leans his tall form over hers; his lanky frame blocks out most of the harsh light.

"Dim the spotlights! The wife is awake!" Joker calls out, having the light die.

Alice takes in her surroundings, backdrops so familiar of red and white – just like the insides of Joker's old circus tent.

"Aye, boss!" A faceless performer calls back.

Alice's gaze refuses to leave the man garnished in his circus uniform. Briefly, Alice wonders where she was now.

"Finally awake, Alice? My, you do have a tendency of falling asleep in the most peculiar areas."

**A/N:**

I'm done, with a horrible vague ending. I made it vague because that's what I intended – anything can happen after this point. As you can tell, I really wanted to get the story out of the way, and I feel terrible for doing so. But, look, I've been going through a lot and I just wanted to at least finish this. Think of it this way – Alice in Wonderland really didn't make much sense, all that matters is that Alice is SOMEWHERE happy, now knowing that her original life sucked.

ALSO, there will be mistakes. I'm still revising this last chapter.


End file.
